Sweet Nothing
by Verkaiking
Summary: Robin is a physical therapist who has developed feelings for one of his patients, a resilient, beautiful woman named Regina. Short multi-chap written for OQ Angst Fest Weekend.
1. Chapter 1

_Wrote this story for Angst Fest Weekend._

 _This is Part ONE of a 3-part story._

 _Prompts used are:_

 _4\. I don't need you anymore._

 _25\. Are you even listening to me?_

 _29\. I didn't mean it like that and you know it._

* * *

She's walking.

All on her own. Has been for the past couple of weeks. Wobbly steps that shouldn't look as graceful as they do, but there's always been a regal air to her that he's found enchanting, a poise and elegance Robin has seldom seen in the patients he works with.

Regina Mills came to him after a horrible car accident. Her best friend, Daniel, who'd been driving the car she'd been in, had not made it, and Regina had needed a large number of surgeries and lots of hospital time before she'd finally been cleared to start her physical therapy.

She'd had to learn to move again, learn her limits and push them as her bones regained their strength, and now, almost a year later, she's walking again.

Robin hates it.

And hates himself for hating it.

Because he should be happy for her. _Is_ happy for her, but the thing is, once they reach their goal, the patients leave, and Robin is left to treat someone new.

He does not want Regina to leave.

It hurts to think about it. To imagine coming to work and not seeing her there, scowling at him in those yoga pants and loose-fitting tank tops that somehow make her even lovelier.

Rule number one: don't get emotionally attached.

He's repeated it like a mantra for years and years, and it's a philosophy that has actually helped him be better at his job. It's easier to push someone's limits and break through their fears if you're not worrying over whether they'll get mad at you for it.

But with Regina it had been different from day one. Her biting words had charmed him, her prissy attitude amused him, and little by little, she'd come out of her shell for him, to the point where she'll stay longer sometimes and share an insipid sandwich from the hospital cafeteria with him for lunch, or arrive a little earlier and bring him coffee so they can have a chat before they start their sessions. She still despises all the exercises and having to take things slow, he knows that, sees it in the frown she's always sporting when he starts her stretches and warm-ups, but she always leaves with this elusive, satisfying smile that Robin has not been able to stop dreaming about from the moment he first saw it.

They flirt sometimes, too. A little banter here and there, some lingering touches when she shakes his hand goodbye... she's even given him a few pats on the cheek when she kids around with him. Seeing her really is the best part of his day, pathetic as it sounds, and now she's leaving, and all that's bright in the world, he's sure, will leave with her.

A handsome young man walks into the room while Robin is standing there, watching Regina walk and feeling sorry for himself. And that's... new. She's never had anyone come inside before. Her father usually waits for her in the car and Robin would roll her out in her chair and watch as Mr. Mills helped her onto the front seat.

But today here comes this man, tall and handsome, giving Regina a seductive smile as he greets her and congratulates her on a job well done. And Robin's blood boils.

"I thought I told you to wait in the car?" is Regina's reaction to the man's appearance, but she's smirking back, blushing just a little bit when she looks at her guest.

"I wanted to bring you your cane in case you needed it," he explains, brandishing the object and setting it against the wall. "Besides, you know I can't resist watching you move," he flirts, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and Robin just... stands there, frozen in anger, in jealousy, while this seemingly new addition to Regina's life just waltzes right in and takes her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles as she laughs.

It seems, though, that Robin's stony attitude has caught her attention, because she seems flustered and repentant when she gives him a whispered, "Oh, sorry," and then proceeds to make introductions.

"Robin, this is my friend, Dr. Facilier. Samdi, this is my physical therapist, Robin Locksley."

Robin shakes the man's hand with maybe a little too much force, his eyes boring into the other man with nothing but disdain as he manages a somewhat polite, "How do you do?"

Facilier continues to smile, this time knowingly, giving him a look that says he's quite aware of the little green monsters coursing through Robin's veins right now.

"I, ah... I'm going to make a call outside while you finish up," Samdi tells Regina, and she grins at him, nods her head, and stretches her arm so that they remain in contact just a little longer while the man walks backwards to the door.

Once he's gone, Robin's anger settles a bit, but not enough to go unnoticed, it seems.

"He's just a friend," Regina tells him, "he's taking me to lunch at his new restaurant."

But Robin says nothing in return, rather walks away and busies himself with putting the small weights he'd used for their warm-up back in the box by the corner.

"Robin?" she asks softly, and then, at his lack of a reply, her tone grows frustrated. "Are you even listening to me?"

"You don't need to justify yourself to me, Regina, I'm just your therapist," he says, refusing to look at her while the emotions inside him simmer.

But his answer seems to have enraged her.

"Really? Is that why you were staring daggers at him? Because you're _just_ my therapist?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Robin defends, and he knows, he just knows he sounds like the most petulant child, but he's defensive, and angry, and jealous, and he cannot help the venom in his tone when he adds, "You're seeing things that aren't there."

And why is he lashing out at her, you'd ask. Why is he being so stupid?

The truth is, he has no idea. All he feels is this insane need to guard himself against all vulnerability, to show that he's stronger than this, to stop his heart from betraying his feelings by going the complete opposite instead.

Because maybe that way it'll be easier to get over her once she's no longer in his life.

"Oh, I'm seeing things now? Is that what happened two weeks ago? I saw something that wasn't there?"

She's talking about the day he almost kissed her. She'd just taken her first couple of steps, had been unsteady on her feet and fallen right back into his arms, their faces so close he could smell cinnamon on her breath, feel the soft brush of the tip of her nose against his. They'd stayed there for endless seconds, looking into each other's eyes and inching ever closer, until his lips were about to touch hers... and then Regina's nurse had knocked on the door to check on her progress, and the moment had been broken.

"I didn't mean it like that and you know it," Robin defends. Still, that day can't have meant all that much to her if she now has this Samdi fellow escorting her to lunch after their session, can it? So he adds, "But as far as that's concerned, you seem otherwise engaged, so I don't see why that day has to mean anything."

"Fine," she snaps. "You know what? You're right. I don't have to justify myself to you. This will be our last session. I'll keep doing my exercises at home. Thank you for your help, but I don't need you anymore. Goodbye, Robin."

It breaks him apart when she says it. He likes being needed by her. Likes to be the person holding her up and whispering encouraging words in her ear, the one guiding her steps, the one proudly watching and assessing her progress. But she's right, other than monitoring her exercises, there isn't much else he can do for her at this point in her recovery. She'll be fine on her own.

And that's the point of all this, isn't it? The reason he's so mad. She's moving on. Without him. And he's just wasted what has turned into their last minutes together by being an asshole.

Robin watches her walk away without another word, her steps aided by the black cane Samdi has left there for her, and he's too stunned by his own stupidity to follow.

* * *

When his boss calls him into his office the next day, Robin is curious. It's not exactly normal for him to be summoned like this.

He's greeted by John Little with a cheery hello, his boisterous demeanor a contagious trait that makes Robin laugh at his silly jokes and shake the man's hand animatedly.

"So. What's up?" he asks, and John grins.

"A position has opened up in our facility in Boston," he explains. "I'd like you to take it."

That shocks him. "Boston?"

"It's not that far from us here in Maine, just a few hours," John tries to sell it by telling him, "and you'd get a great raise, too."

"I... don't know what to say," is Robin's response.

"Think about it. I'll send you all the boring administrative details in an email, take the rest of the month to consider it and let me know your decision, alright? In the meantime, we'll continue business as usual."

It's fast. No bullshit, no preamble, the way John has always worked. It's why Robin likes this hospital. He doesn't have to deal with annoying bosses who value unnecessary paperwork over quality of work, he gets to choose his hours for each patient depending on their schedules, and best of all, he can walk home from work and vice versa. It's a good life, and up until two weeks ago, it had always been a fulfilling one.

But he's ruined what was a great friendship by letting his bullheaded idiocy get in the way, and it consumes him, makes him regret every choice he made that day. He should've apologized. He should've said something. He should've told her how he felt. He should've let her choose what she wanted instead of pushing her away.

And now, Regina is likely using her rediscovered motor functions to walk in and out of chic little boutique restaurants with that pompous Samdi guy, and it's all Robin's fault.

It doesn't take much mulling over. It's a good change, a good job, and better pay, not to mention he'll be far enough away from Regina that maybe, just maybe, he can get over her and this non-relationship he created in his head.

It's time he moves on, as well.


	2. Chapter 2

_For OQ August Angst Fest Day 2._

 _Prompts used:_

 _6\. Please don't leave_

 _22\. I trusted you_

 _27\. I have every right to be angry_

 _28\. Why did you lie?_

 _39\. Where the hell were you?_

 _40\. I got scared, okay?_

 _41\. You need rest, I'll be right here_

 _43\. I miss you._

* * *

Two weeks later, she shows up at his doorstep one night. And she's angry.

He's been wallowing, numb to all emotion except his self-caused loneliness, so to see her there, drenched from the pouring rain and glaring at him is a surprise, to say the least.

"Where the hell were you?" she demands. And she's drenched from the pouring rain outside, her hair sticking to her face as she shivers and holds onto her cane for support.

"Regina?" he asks, "What's wrong?"

"I fell. I went to the hospital and you... you weren't there! Why weren't you there?!"

"I... I had the day off," he stammers, and she's pushing him away from the door with her cane and walking inside, stalking as best she can towards his living room.

He's dumbfounded, to say the least, but still has the good sense to grab the jacket he keeps on the coat rack and bring it with him, wrapping it around her even as she glares at him.

"Please tell me you got checked out," he begs.

"I'm fine," she grumbles. "Nurse Lucas cleared me."

He breathes a sigh of relief at that, and takes a seat across from her.

"You never have Thursdays off. That's when you fill out your time sheet and arrange your schedule for the following week. You told me that when we first started our sessions," she accuses.

"I'm sorry."

"I needed you," she says then, "I needed you and you weren't there." She sounds... hurt. It tears him apart to even think he's the cause of it, but there she is, voice trembling as she asks again. "Why?"

"I, uh... I took the day off to pack," he explains in a low voice.

That catches her attention. "Pack?"

"Yeah... I'm being transferred to the Boston facility in a few days."

"You're moving? Without telling me? Without saying goodbye?!"

"Next week," Robin confirms. "And I didn't think you'd want to see or talk to me after... you know." Something flashes in her eyes, a sadness, a shock, and then she's pushing herself up on her cane and standing, shaking her head as she moves for the door.

"Please don't leave," he begs, "just... talk to me."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea anymore," she admits, and she doesn't sound angry anymore. Just... defeated. And it's even worse somehow.

"Tell me what happened?" he prods. "Please."

She huffs, leaning her weight on her cane more than she should, he notices. Her legs must be tired, and he gestures towards the couch again, urging her to take a seat before she speaks.

To his utter delight, she takes him up on the offer, and he can see the way her body relaxes when she sinks into the cushions, her eyes closing for a moment as her limbs loosen and stretch.

"Now that I can walk, I figured it would be a good idea to go back to work, so I've been working from home most days, but today, I wanted to go into the office. I wanted to walk in there and show them I was okay."

He nods, not daring to interrupt.

"I was stupid," she says with a humorless chuckle. "Thought I could just put on my heels and walk in there with this stupid cane and I'd be fine. But as it turns out, my feet don't remember stilettos, and I face-planted before I even reached the front door of my apartment."

He wants to smile at that, because the image is so utterly endearing to him, but he can see how much the fall has affected her, how it's brought back to the surface all those fears he'd made it his mission to drown with his positivity.

And it occurs to him that that's why she sought him out. Not because of the fall itself, but because for the past few months, he's the one who's been bringing her back up every time she's down.

"You're not stupid," he says first. "Lots of people fall using stilettos, and most of them haven't gone through what you've gone through. One minor setback does not in any way diminish all that you've accomplished, Regina. Just give yourself time to adjust."

Her eyes are welling up with tears, but she's looking away from him, out the window towards the city lights and the rain.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he says then, hoping she can hear the honesty in his tone. "And I'm sorry about... how we left things. I was an idiot."

She nods. "You were."

"Are you still angry?" he asks, curious.

"I have every right to be angry," she defends. "You said it yourself, you were an idiot, and you... I trusted you, Robin, during all this time we spent together, day after day, it wasn't just about the therapy. I trusted you, I opened up to you and you... you downplayed everything and made me feel so insignificant... like I meant nothing to you."

"I'm so sorry," he says fervently, hating himself for hurting her like this. She means everything to him, absolutely everything, had fallen hard and fast for her from the moment he met her, and the fact that he's botched everything up in a fit of jealousy eats at him, his chest clenching painfully at the thought. "I didn't mean any of it, I swear."

"I know you didn't, which is why I forgive you, but it doesn't... it still hurts," she explains, and god, her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes are so watery he expects the tears to fall any minute.

He doesn't deserve her. Will never deserve her.

He has no idea what to say to her, what to do, so he finds a way to stay busy. She's shivering, so he sets about making her comfortable, something he probably should've done the minute she walked in, but, well, he's still a bit in shock that she's here to begin with.

"Let me make you some tea," he begs, "you're shivering, it'll help warm you up. And I can throw your clothes in the dryer, too, I'll grab you something clean to put on in the meantime."

"Thank you," she says, shrugging off his jacket and refusing his help as she tries to stand.

It takes her a moment, and he can see the almost imperceptible wince she gives as her leg straightens, her hand grabbing her cane instantly and leaning heavily on it.

"Bathroom?" she asks, and it snaps him into action.

"Just there," he says, pointing to the door down the hall. "I'll be right back."

She nods, and wobbles to the loo while he dashes to his bedroom. His wardrobe isn't exactly stylish, but it's definitely comfortable enough for Regina to wear for a little while, so he grabs a pair of freshly laundered scrubs and heads out to the guest bath, knocking softly on the door.

"I have something for you," he announces, and squeezes the clothes in through the small gap when she opens the door slightly, answering her muted _Thanks_ with a pleasant smile and taking her wet clothes from the arm she sticks out the door.

The laundry room on his floor is just two doors down, so the trek is short and quick enough that he can get back in before she steps out of the loo. Robin places the black loose-fitting trousers, gray V-neck and black vest Regina had been wearing into one of the empty machines, making sure to select the proper cycle before heading back to his apartment and into the kitchen to get started on that tea.

There's a steaming cup set on the coffee table a few minutes later. Robin sits on the armchair, leaving the couch free for her, and sips his own cuppa as he waits for several minutes.

She's swimming in navy fabric when she steps out, the _R. Locksley, PT_ embroidered in contrasting white on the right side of the chest resting a little too low on her. The V of the shirt dips farther down than it does on him, and his very skin heats up at the sight.

She looks tired, and he notices she's limping again.

"May I?" he asks when she takes a seat on the couch, his feet carrying him toward her before she can answer.

"I told you, I'm fine," she insists as he kneels before her, and she looks... embarrassed. Fidgets with the fabric of his shirt for a moment. "I should go, coming here was a bad idea."

She moves to stand, but he stops her by holding onto her hand, his eyes pleading with her.

"Regina, let me help," he implores her. He trusts Nurse Lucas's diagnostics, knows she wouldn't have released Regina if there had been more serious consequences to her fall, but this is more for Robin's own benefit than it is for hers. He needs to feel like he's doing something, _anything_ , to make up for not being there when she needed him.

Regina sighs, nods to give him the okay, and Robin immediately reaches for the hem of the pants, lifting the left leg of fabric at a snail-like pace and uncovering the bare skin underneath. The living room is quiet, no sound except his breathing and hers mixing with the rain pounding outside.

When he's hiked the pant leg up to her knee, he moves his hands slowly down her calf, kneading and feeling her muscles, massaging as he goes. Regina sighs in relief, but doesn't take her eyes off his hand, refusing to meet his gaze while he continues.

Robin reaches her foot, and holds it around the arch as he circles it in one direction and then the other, his other hand placed on her ankle to feel the bones as they move. There's a small pop there, but nothing out of the ordinary, thankfully.

He's focused on his task, eyes zeroed in on her ankle as he prods and checks it over, but he doesn't miss the hitch in Regina's breath when he moves his hand up her calf again. There's nothing inappropriate to the contact, not really, he's still kneading and checking, making sure there isn't any hidden injury he should address.

"I, uh... I hit my knee pretty hard," she tells him, and he looks up at her, nods with a small smile, and moves his touch to the back of her knee, using his free hand to guide her leg into a stretch as he feels around the bone. There's a bit of inflammation around her patellar tendon, but nothing out of the ordinary, and yet he can't seem to move his hand away from her.

"Why did you lie?" Regina asks then, so quietly he almost can't hear her.

"Pardon?"

"You said you were just my therapist. Why?" she insists, and there's that tone of defeat, of disappointment, the bitter tinge of it hurting him more than her anger ever could.

Robin swallows, then admits, "I was jealous."

"Of what? I told you Samdi was a friend," she whispers, crossing her arms over her chest as a wet tendril of hair falls over her face. Robin reaches up to tuck it back behind her ear, not realizing how intimate the action is until her eyes widen in response.

"Sorry," he says instantly, his hand quickly moving away. "And I know, but I was just... he seemed to want more than friendship with you. Not that that's something that should concern me."

"Because I'm just your patient?" she asks, her voice taking on a derisive tone as she almost spits out the words at him.

"Because you're not mine to be jealous over," Robin corrects. "Even if you were, I... it was wrong of me to act the way I did, and I'm sorry."

She hums at that, her eyes closing for a moment. When they open, he becomes aware of just how tired she is, and asks, "Regina, how did you get here?" as he sits on the coffee table in front of her.

"Uber," she says, reaching for the cup of tea that has now likely grown cold. She sips, and sips, avoiding the raised eyebrow Robin is giving her as long as she can before she confesses, "Driver dropped me off half a block away, I walked the rest of the way."

"No wonder you're so weary," he chides. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I've been walking for almost three weeks and getting better, I can walk half a block, Robin, I'm not weak," she snaps, fire igniting in her eyes at his insinuation.

"No, you're not. You're quite possibly the strongest person I know, but you can't exert yourself like this, least of all after you've had a fall."

"I'm _fine_ ," she says again, annoyed.

"And yet you came to me."

"Because I got scared, okay?" she claps back. "I was scared, and alone, and I... I wanted my friend, the person who's been looking after me all this time, the one who told me he'd be there for me day or night, to tell me everything was okay, and you weren't _there_."

He sighs, apologizes again, and she huffs, looking away.

"I miss you, too, you know," he says then, and that has her turning her head back to him, curiosity etched on her face as she sasses, _I never said that_.

He shrugs, but stays silent for several minutes, until she sighs and prods, "So... you miss me."

"Every day," Robin admits. And he wants to say more, but she does look so tired even as she smiles at him, and he can see the calming properties of the tea working their magic on her now, her posture seeming more relaxed now as she sinks into the cushions.

So he smiles, tells her, "You should get some sleep. Why don't you go into the bedroom and take a nap? I'll stay out here."

"No, I'm fine here," she tells him, sighing as she relaxes further into the couch. "Don't really feel like moving."

Robin chuckles at that. "Alright," he says, grabbing the mustard-yellow throw from the armchair and draping it over her as she gets more comfortable. "My room's down the hall, if you need me just—"

"Don't go," she says quickly. "Just... stay here a little longer. Please?"

"As you wish, milady," he quips, and her eyes are closed, but she smiles. He's called her that since their first session. He'd meant it as a joke, a way to break through her tough act, to make her laugh, and then it had just... stuck.

"We can keep talking," she tells him, eyes still closed as she adds, "I can stay awake."

Robin breathes out a laugh, shaking his head and insisting, "You need to rest. I'll be right here when you wake up, we can talk then."

He's surprised by how much that promise soothes her, the last bits of tension melting away as she surrenders to her exhaustion. Her legs are tucked up under the throw, but her toes peek out from beneath it, the hem of his pants long enough on her to cover half of the exposed skin there as he tugs the blanket down to cover the rest.

Robin smiles, appreciating the sight before him and wondering just how he got lucky enough to have this woman in his life.

It's ridiculous, how much he's come to feel for her, how much he yearns to see her on the days she's not around, how a smile from her can instantly make his day that much better. How her presence here has reminded him why he loves living in Maine.

And then pain stabs at his chest when he remembers he'll be moving away soon, and won't ever see her again.

He stays there, watching her, pondering on his life, on the decisions he's already made and cannot back out of, and then reminds himself that he and Regina are not in a relationship, that they're just friends, and he can't just rescind his acceptance of the new job because his heart is playing tricks on him. He has professional decorum to maintain, a code of honor he must live by. He's moving. End of story.

* * *

It's his neck that wakes him.

His phone screen reads 3:41AM, his eyes shutting against the painful stab of light. There are sore, tense knots on his nape, and he must have shifted incorrectly in his sleep, because his awareness of the pain is sudden, has his eyes snapping open as he winces, grinding his teeth to avoid growling loudly at the unexpected, needling ache.

It's only as he sits up that he realizes he's not in bed. He remembers getting up after Regina had been deep in slumber; remembers heading out and grabbing her clothes from the dryer two doors down, folding them neatly in a pile by the coffee table and sitting on his armchair to watch over her for a little while longer.

It seems he fell asleep here. Bad choice, that.

But Regina is awake, looking cozy and downright stunning as she exits the bathroom, back in her own garments now. She walks over to him and places his folded scrubs on the coffee table before she takes up the couch again, cuddling between the back and the arm of it and throwing the blanket around her once more. She stares up at him and smiles lazily, and he'd take that neck pain every day for the rest of his life if it means waking up to her like this.

"Good morning," he rasps, ignoring the fact that it's still dark outside.

"Well, look who's finally woken up," she teases in return, her voice a scratchy, delightful thing.

"I apologize, but, uh... that was the best sleep I've had in a very long time," he quips.

"Your neck doesn't seem to agree," Regina banters. Robin shrugs with a smile, and regrets it instantly, his neck seemingly determined to prove her point.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stay so late," she says, "or to keep you from proper sleep in your own bed."

"It's quite alright," he rushes to assure. "What about you? Are you sore? Any pain?"

"None," she confirms, and there's a fond smile on her lips, one that makes him ask _What?_ , his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Nothing, I just... I love when you're concerned about me," she tells him, and he can see the tiniest hint of a blush on her cheeks at the admission.

"I'm always concerned about you, Regina, I care for you."

Her smile gets wider, and then something flashes in her eyes that seems to sober her up in seconds.

"So... when do you leave?" she asks, and that's it, isn't it? The elephant in the room.

"Wednesday night, my flight leaves at 8:15PM."

She nods, sitting up on the couch.

"I should go."

"Regina—"

"No, it's... it's fine. I'm not mad at you, I just can't be here right now."

"I thought you wanted to talk," he insists, because he's starving for her voice, her presence.

"What's there to talk about, Robin? You're moving, and we're just friends."

"We're more than that," he says, and it's funny, isn't it? How he went from denying it to embracing the full brunt of it in such a short time.

"We can't _be_ more than that. Not anymore." Her voice shakes a little, and it splits his heart in two to know she's hurting.

He takes her hand as she stands, begging her with a simple "Please."

And he's not expecting it, not at all, but what happens next is everything he's ever wanted.

She fists her hands in his shirt, brings him down to her and crashes their lips together.

He's shocked by the action, and she's pulling away before he can kiss back, staring up at him with a nervous expression, as if she's getting ready for him to reject her, to tell her this isn't right.

But it _is_ right, it's the most _right_ thing he's ever felt, and soon he's pulling her against him as he kisses her again.

His mouth opens for her, lips catching her upper one and sucking delicately as the tip of her tongue peeks and slides against his. She tastes of ginger and honey and _her_ , a combination Robin knows will never be surpassed by anything or anyone else.

She moans, a tiny, almost shy kind of moan, but he hears it, _feels_ it, wraps his arms tighter around her waist and kisses her deeper, one hand moving up to tangle in her hair. He delights in the texture of it, plays with the locks near her nape as he kisses and kisses some more, unable to get his fill of her, needing more and more and more with every second.

Because they've been dancing around this attraction they feel for each other for so long, shying away from pursuing it for so long, trying to respect their boundaries as patient and therapist for so long, that everything has been bottling up, building and building, exploding now in every press of their lips, every pass of his tongue against hers, every tingly little nibble she gives his bottom lip; Robin cannot get enough of the unbelievable sensation.

And then it all goes to hell.

He hears a sniffle, but doesn't really register it until he tastes the salt of her tears, and he stops immediately, lets her push against his chest until he's far enough away that he can focus on the tortured expression on his face.

"Regina?"

She's shaking her head, fighting so hard to stop the tears, wiping furiously at them as she declares, "I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"But—"

"Please, don't," she begs. "I... I should go. Please, just... just let me go."

He doesn't want to. Not at all. But he's hurt her enough with his stupidity, he has no right to her, no right to demand anything from her, no right to make her stay.

So he swallows, nods and lets his hands fall from her, his heart wrinkling in despair as she grabs her cane and goes for the door as fast as her legs will carry her. She wobbles a little as she turns the knob, her hands shaking, and Robin gives it one last, desperate attempt.

"You're more than just a patient to me, Regina," he says, his voice gruff. "I'm sorry I ever made you think otherwise. I'm sorry I screwed this up before it began."

She doesn't turn back, doesn't say a single thing, merely walks away from him yet again, her shoulders shaking as she cries.

The door slams behind her, and his heart shatters.


	3. Chapter 3

_For OQ Angst Fest, Final Day._

 _Prompts used in this chapter are:_

 _10\. Why did you come back?_

 _21\. I came to say goodbye._

 _26\. This is our last night together._

 _44\. I'm not going anywhere._

* * *

It's shocking, how empty his apartment looks with his belongings all packed up.

He's got plenty of space here. One of the benefits of not living in a big city, he supposes. His place has two bedrooms, a spacious enough kitchen, and a standard sized living area.

He's leaving all his furniture here along with some of his clothes, towels, kitchen appliances and other staples, all in the care of his friend Will, who has graciously agreed to pack it up and send it over on a moving truck once Robin finds an apartment in Boston. He'll be staying at a hotel near the hospital, in a comfortable suite paid for by his employers while he finds a suitable place to live (their way of making up for the sudden transfer, he supposes, as it's all been happening very fast). Everything is ready to go. New job, new life. He's all set.

And yet there's this ache in his chest, this needling thing in his heart that seems to beat under one name: _Regina, Regina, Regina_ , over and over again, to the point where it's difficult to breathe sometimes.

Right now is one of those times, on the eve of his flight out of Maine, while he goes through his checklist one more time to make sure he's got everything he needs.

He hasn't heard from her since that day, since that kiss, and he forces himself to accept that, to believe that it's okay she hasn't called, or texted, or answered any of his messages. She wants space, and after the way he's hurt her, she deserves nothing less than for him to respect her wishes.

And then there's a knock on his door, the clock striking 9PM on the dot as he rises from the couch, his glass of bourbon left unattended on the coffee table as he walks curiously to the source of the noise.

Regina is standing on the other side of his door, drenched again by the rain, this time in a tight, sleeveless red dress that hugs her curves and ends just above her knees.

It's the single most wonderful deja vu Robin's ever had.

He wants to hug her, to take her into his arms and taste her lips again, his body all the more desperate for her now that she's here, solid and real and absolutely gorgeous.

But she looks... sad.

"Regina?" he asks, worried.

She walks inside using her cane for support, and opens with, "I swore to myself I wouldn't come back here."

That makes him gulp, nerves bubbling up inside him as he asks, "Why _did_ you come back?"

"I wanted... I..." she starts, then stops, steels herself, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly before she tells him, "I came to say goodbye."

Something drops in his stomach when she says it, a heaviness that makes it even harder to stay away from her, to resist the urge to touch her.

"I... I didn't want you to leave thinking that I hated you or—"

"I don't think that," he quickly interrupts. "And I know that I messed everything up, I understand that you need space."

"That's not why I left that night."

That surprises him, his eyebrows rising as he looks at her curiously, waiting for her explanation.

"I left because I couldn't... that kiss was... we can't be anything more, Robin. You're leaving. And I... I have so much to figure out about myself, about what I want, what life means to me now, after the accident and this long recovery, I... I don't think I know who I am anymore."

"You're a fighter," he tells her. "Regina, your life is proof that no one's path is set. You got a second chance at life, and you embraced it, you pushed yourself in ways you didn't even know you could be pushed, and you beat every obstacle. You're funny, and beautiful, and kind, and ruthless when you need to be. No matter how much you think that accident changed you, that's still who you are at your core. You're stunning, Regina. In every way."

Robin hears the clank of her cane as it falls to the floor, and watches, spellbound, as Regina takes three steps to him and crashes her lips against his.

It's like he's been drowning, fighting against the current that pushes him down towards the darkness to no avail, and suddenly with her here there is a light pulling him out of the depths, granting him the first proper breath he's had in days.

Her lips are as soft and wonderful as he remembers, kissing him desperately as he holds her tight, her went clothes soaking him as he kisses back. He feels her body press closer against his, a shiver running down his spine as her tongue tastes his, and Robin moans and plays with her hair as he savors her.

And then she stops, her breathing quick and shallow as she looks up at him. He can see this hesitation in her eyes, like she's trying to make up her mind about something, and he can't watch her leave, not again, not yet. He's not ready to say goodbye.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"How much I'm going to miss you," she says, her voice raspy. She kisses him again, her arms looping around his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at his nape, nails scratching deliciously at his scalp as their lips part with a wet smack. "I can't believe that this is our last night together."

"It doesn't have to be. You could visit," he offers, "I could come back to see you, we could—"

"No," she stops him. "I'm not going to start a relationship with someone who isn't here, Robin. I've enough to deal with on my own."

He swallows, nods. "I understand."

"I'm sorry," she says then, sounding truly so.

"No, don't be," he insists. "None of this is your fault, believe me. If I could go back, I'd never take the job. I'd be here. With you."

"We've always had terrible timing, haven't we?" she jokes, though the laugh she lets out is dry and humorless.

"Maybe," he concedes. "But I don't regret a single moment I've spent with you, Regina."

That makes her smile, makes her eyes sparkle with the hint of tears as she agrees, "Neither do I."

Regina sighs then, smoothes her hands down the sides of her dress and then crosses her arms over her chest, looking a bit shy.

"So—" she starts.

"Don't go," he interrupts, because he can see that survival instinct kicking in, that need to run igniting in her gaze as she catches her breath. "If tonight is all we have," he pleads, "stay."

She gives him a small smile, her hand rising to cradle his cheek, thumb rubbing over the stubble on his jaw. He leans into the touch, his eyes closing so he can just _feel_ her for a moment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he hears her say, and there's this newfound determination in her voice that has his pulse racing.

He opens his eyes to find her still smiling at him, but looking more certain, more resolute, and he leans in slowly, his lips searching hers again. She kisses him back, and he notices the way her whole body just relaxes into him, into this unbelievable connection they share, and Robin sighs into her mouth, his hands holding her face in place as he slants his head to the side and deepens the kiss.

She tastes of whiskey tonight, a bitter hint of liquid courage, mixed with the sweetness of her, the velvety softness of her tongue, and he's aching for her, desperate to see more, to hear her moan his name, to feel her trembling as she comes while he moves inside her.

Every inch of his body is screaming to feel her. To peel off these wet clothes and touch her skin. And then she does it, grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts, ridding him of the fabric in seconds, and then he's bringing her close again, kissing her again, relishing the smoky whisky taste of her and moaning as her tongue twirls with his. He's walking her backwards down the hall, and they bump into the wall, so he keeps her there, pressed against the solid surface as he veers his head down to kiss a line along her neck, taste the hint of salt on her skin, his waist pressing into hers, making her moan when she feels his half-mast erection against her.

His hands are on her waist still, moving up and down her sides without venturing anywhere inappropriate, but then she breathes out a "Touch me, Robin," that changes that altogether. His hand moves back, wedged between her and the wall, then moves down to grasp and knead at her rear. He moans into her mouth, swallows the little whimper she gives in return as she runs her hands over his chest and then back up around his neck again, and there's that little pull again, that slight scratch of her nails that has quickly become one of his favorite things.

Robin nibbles at her bottom lip now, keeps moving that hand downward so he can grasp her thigh and hike it up around his waist. But her dress, sexy as it is, seems to thwart that plan with its tight fit, so he lets her leg fall and focuses back on her upper body. One hand moves up her side, thumb settling on the underside of her breast, and she arches her back off the wall, seeking his touch, and Robin is capable of a lot of things, but denying her is not one of them.

His hand moves higher, until he can knead at the swell of her breast, and his thumb now settles on her nipple, rubbing little circles over it through the fabric. She's not wearing a bra, and the idea that only this red layer of fabric stands between him and her breasts is too much to bear.

"Bedroom," she moans, moving away from his mouth and sucking little kisses down his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. "Please."

He groans, and resumes their walk towards his room, stumbling a little as he guides her through the door and over to his bed. When the backs of her legs hit the mattress, she stops, her hands reaching up and back to unzip that tantalizing red dress.

"No," he asks. "Please, let me."

Regina smiles at that, then turns around and moves her hair to the side of her neck, waiting.

Robin takes his time, undoing the little clasp and bringing the zipper down slowly, revealing inch after inch of tempting skin as he goes, until the zipper ends on the small of her back and the sleeveless top begins to droop down her shoulders. He helps push it down, letting the fabric fall and pool at her feet, where she's toeing off her shoes.

She stands there, shy and unmoving.

"Are you alright?" he asks, running his hand down her shoulder as he gets closer.

"No, I'm not alright," she admits.

"We can stop if—"

"No, no it's not that," she rushes to assure, and in doing so turns around to face him, but Robin's eyes are steady on hers, refusing to venture down until she's explained what she's feeling.

A deep breath, another, and then she finally says, "I haven't... been with anyone since before the accident, my body is... I'm not exactly confident right now."

"May I?" he asks, taking her hands in his and gently pulling them away from where they're pressed against her chest to cover it.

Regina nods, and lets him look, biting her lip nervously as he kneels down before her. There are scars, some from surgery, some from cuts that went deep enough to leave a reminder on her skin; most of them are small now after so long, but they are there, marking her, and somehow she thinks that's ugly, that it's... unpleasant to look at, when in fact it's the most beautiful thing about her.

He kisses the more familiar scars first, the long, thin line over her right thigh (glass from the car had cut deep there), the smaller line over her left knuckle where her hand dangles at her side, the little cuts all over the side of her left leg... and then he sets about discovering the new ones, punctuating his words with a reverent kiss on each of them.

"You," he kisses, "are exquisite," and kisses. "This is who you are," another kiss. "This is proof of what you've overcome," one more. "And it's absolutely beautiful."

When he looks up at her, there's a tear running down her cheeks, and he kisses the little scar on the left side of her belly, then hooks his fingers on either side of her black lacy underwear and begins to pull it down.

She's gorgeous. In every sense of the word. Her skin and her lips and her body, all of it, every bit of her soul that shines through her watery eyes as she looks down at him are beautiful, and Robin wishes for nothing more than to worship her.

But he knows she's still overanalyzing everything, going through scenarios and possibilities in her head, her heart shying away from him as he stands and tries to catch her gaze. She looks away, avoiding him, and that just won't do.

He cradles the side of her face with his hand burying his fingers into the hair behind her ear and anchoring her to him as he begs, "Stop thinking. We're here now, and this is true."

She gasps, finding his eyes at last, and then she's giving him a little nod, and letting him bring her closer so he can kiss her, a firm press of his lips on her to ground her, to remind her that this is their moment, and regardless of what's happening tomorrow, tonight is for them.

When their lips part, she sinks into her embrace, naked and beautiful as he holds her in his arms and feels the heat of her skin seeping into his. Slowly, she pulls away and sinks into the mattress, until she's sitting on the soft covers and looking up at him. She's a dream, and Robin never wants to wake up.

Her breath is shallow, her tongue licking at her bottom lip as she watches him, and it's like her gaze is setting him on fire, heating his skin as he explores hers. He kneels before her again, his hands inching up her thighs, parting them and pulling her more towards the edge so he can settle more comfortably between them and taste her arousal.

He starts with kisses along her outer lips, little pecks here and there that make her squirm and gasp as she lies back and lets him take over, her hand seeking out her nipple and giving it a little squeeze, and damn, if that's not the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

His fingers find her clit, toy with it slowly, deliberately, teasing and testing until she grinds her hips in search for more, and he gladly gives it to her, presses his thumb on the little nub and delights in the raspy _Oh!_ that tumbles out of her. God, he wants her so much.

His cock is hard now, aching to bury itself deep inside her and feeling her orgasm all around him, so Robin brings his free hand down and pulls it out of his pajama pants, giving himself a few good rubs as he leans in and slides the tip of his tongue from her entrance to her clit.

"Mmm, Robin!" she whimpers, and he knows without a doubt he's never heard something as sexy as his name coming out of her mouth like that. It makes him eager, needy, has him pushing two fingers inside the delicious wet heat of her as he licks at her clit again, and again, picking up speed as he hooks those fingers and searches.

When he finds that magical spot inside her, her moans get louder, longer, reedier, and her body is almost vibrating with need. Robin has never seen something so beautiful, and the stab of pain in his heart reminds him he never will again, after tonight.

God, how can he live without this now? She's here, wet and tight and ready for him to kiss and touch and fuck until they're both panting and boneless in the high of orgasm. He can't possibly part from her now.

"More," she whispers, and Robin obeys, pushing his fingers in deeper, giving that spot a firmer touch and watching her whole body shake with pleasure at the action.

In and out his fingers go, and he licks and licks until he can taste nothing but her. He sucks at her clit again, and again, and again, and when he looks up at the stunning map of her body laid out before him, he catches her pinching her nipple a little harder, her hips rolling more decisively now, almost slamming onto his hand.

Robin is entranced by the sight of her, by the sounds coming out of her, tight little moans that escape her in time with every press of his fingers against that sweet spot inside her. She's panting, babbling about how good, how amazing, how _God, yes, don't stop._

He doesn't, wouldn't dare to. Not when she's moaning like this, panting his name and kneading her own breast as she gets closer and closer. He's so hard. So, so hard, she has no idea just how sexy she is, no idea what she does to him.

His fingers keep pulsing in and out of her, driving her closer and closer to the edge, his tongue moves back to her clit, flicks at it repeatedly, with as much pressure as he can muster, and then one of her hands moves down to thread into his hair, pulling there as she guides his head, and fuck, that's hot.

He sucks at her clit, moves his fingers faster, moans against the sensitive flesh when she pulls on his hair again, and it seems the vibrations from his voice hit her just right, because in seconds she's gasping, letting out these raspy little screams that have his cock almost twitching with need.

She comes on his tongue, on his fingers, and it's better than he ever imagined.

"God, I need to be inside you," he says when he pulls back to watch her, and she's writhing on the bed still, riding out her orgasm as he slows his fingers inside her, but she's nodding eagerly, breathing out a _Please_.

It's been fast, and deep, and wild, but as soon as he discards his pants and hovers above her, the atmosphere changes. He gets lost in her eyes, in the sorrow he sees behind the pleasure, and it hits him again, that this is the only time he'll ever get to feel like this.

He gulps down the knot that forms in his throat, breathes in deep, taking in the scent of her, sweaty and perfect beneath him.

"Stunning," he calls her, his head moving down to kiss her. It's slow, and reverent, and perfect. He savors her, relishes the warmth of her, the soft moans she lets out into his mouth as their tongues tangle and move together, his hand settling on the side of her neck, fingers toying with the hair at her nape, trapped between her and the mattress.

It's glorious, having her like this, seeing her, feeling her, and he's desperate to be inside her, to feel her walls clamp down on him as she comes again.

There are condoms on his nightstand, but when he tries to move off her to grab one, she stops him.

"I'm on the pill," she explains. "And I want to feel you."

"Are you sure? I'm safe, but we can still use—"

"I'm sure," she interrupts. "I trust you."

He gulps again, overwhelmed with how much he cares for her. An onslaught of feeling clouds his vision, has him burying his face into the right side of her neck and kissing there. His hand rests on her chest, moves down to her left breast and kneads at the swell, finds her nipple and rolls between his fingers just as he'd seen her do earlier.

She gasps, arching off the bed and into his hand, her mouth seeking him for open kisses. The glide of his skin against hers is incredible, the way her hand wraps around his bicep as she undulates her hips beneath him. And then she's wiggling out from under him, scooting up on the bed until her head lands gracefully on his pillows. Robin follows, taking his place above her once again.

At his curious smirk, she explains, "My back was hurting a bit."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he says, and tries to move off of her, but Regina stops him, shakes her head with a smile.

"I'm fine now," she tells him. "I promise. Keep going."

He chuckles at the adventurous fire in her gaze, but he listens, brings his mouth down to her neck and trails a line of kisses there, down to her chest and over her breasts, until finally, he traps one pert nipple between his lips and sucks.

"Ohh!" she whimpers as she squirms, her breath growing choppy as she encourages him with a "Yes, just like that."

He does it again, and again, pinching the other nipple between his fingers to give her more stimulation, his cock pressing between her legs and hardening even more at the silky warmth there. Robin moves the hand on her breast down between them, over the neat little strip of hair that adorns her and down just a bit further to reach her clit. He rubs tight little circles over it, moves his mouth to the abandoned nipple and treats it to those intense sucking kisses, too.

Her reactions are incredible. He'll be replaying this in his mind forever. The way she arches off the bed in search for his mouth, how she tightens her grip on his hair to keep him on her nipple, sucking and kissing until she's thrashing and begging him, "Inside me. Please, I— mmmh! Fuck me, Robin."

So he does.

If his cock could sigh with relief, it would do so right this second, as Robin positions himself above her and sinks into the wet, tight bliss of her. Regina moans as he stretches her, circling her hips up to meet him as he buries himself to the hilt. He can feel her body moving as she breathes, can pick up the acceleration of her pulse as he brings his head down to her nipple and sucks at it again, his hands planted on the mattress on either side of her head, holding his weight above her. His whole body trembles with the incredible feeling, and he gives himself a few seconds of just being inside her, of having her close and kissing her as his cock pulses for release.

And then he begins to move.

It starts out slow, and deep, and perfect, he pulls almost all the way out, until only the tip remains inside her, and then pushes back in at a measured pace, angling his hips just a little to the side so he can hit that spot again. She's so wet, so warm, and his fingers move down between them again, rubbing that wetness over her clit as he pulls almost completely out again, pushes in again, a little faster now. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking away the taste of her before he kisses her again. She moans and kisses back, her tongue almost desperate against his, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin as she orders, "Harder."

Robin grunts, a primal urge growing inside him as he picks up the pace, slams back into her with more force, satisfaction coursing through him when she reacts with a long, draw-out _Yesss_.

"Like that?" he asks, and he needn't really, because it's obvious that yes, like that. But he likes to hear her, needs to hear her.

"Yes, don't stop, don't stop," she pleads, almost clawing at him as her legs open a bit more and bend at the knees, feet planted flat on the mattress as she takes him in deeper.

"Fuck, you feel so— mmm— so good," he tells her, his voice gravelly and low as he says the words against her neck, kissing there for good measure as he thrusts again, and again, and again, fucking into her in tandem with her loud moans and needy whimpers.

She's an erotic marvel, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her eyes close, her head lolling to the side, her nipples stiff and inviting. Robin sucks at them again, first the right, then the left, the back to the right, running his tongue in slow circles around each one in turn before he sucks again, his hips picking up a faster, deeper rhythm.

"God, yes, like that," she rasps. "I'm gonna— oh, fuck! I'm gonna come again."

Her tone is urgent, and he dives faster and faster into her, holding himself above her and watching, mesmerized, as she chases that high, arching off the bed and meeting his every thrust with the quick circling of her hips. Robin leans his entire weight on one hand so he can move the other down between them again, rubbing at her clit in quick, tight passes, heightening her pleasure until she's screaming and coming on his cock.

He can feel it, the way she tightens around him, wet and warm and absolutely perfect as he thrusts again, and again, until he, too, is shouting his pleasure, coming in quick bursts inside her as the cresting waves of exquisite sensation overwhelm him.

God, he wants this forever. The fact that he won't have her like this ever again is nothing but pure torture.

She's panting, catching her breath, same as him, and they both chuckle airily at each other. Robin doesn't want to move. Not yet. Not when he's still inside her. So he lingers for a moment, sinks his weight down onto her slowly and digs his elbows into the mattress on either side of her head, fingers plating with her hair as he leans in for a kiss so tender it makes that knot form in his throat again.

"What am I going to do without you?" he asks, and he doesn't realize how choked up he is until the words come out all warbly and strange. It's enough to make her look away, her eyes focusing absentmindedly on a spot on his night table, and dammit, he's messed things up again, hasn't he?

"I'm sorry," he tells her, moving out and off of her at last and collapsing beside her on the bed. "I didn't mean to make this harder."

She turns on her side to face him, and surprises him by declaring, "I won't ever regret tonight. I want you to know that."

"Neither will I," he tells her, his words dripping with honesty and feeling.

"This whole thing that went on between us—" she starts.

"Was real," he intervenes, because he's sure she's about to dismiss it, to call it a casual one night stand and be done with it, because it's easier to deny how much they feel for one another than accepting that they missed their window. But he's done more than enough denial for both of them, so instead, he insists, "My feelings for you were —are— real."

She smiles sadly at him at that and says nothing, her fingers playing with the hair at his temples. Robin sighs, bringing his forehead to hers and peppering kisses along the bridge and tip of her nose, her forehead, and finally her lips, chaste little pecks that somehow convey more than he could ever put into words.

Regina sighs and shifts closer, grimacing for a moment when she rubs her thighs together.

"I should—"

"Let me," he interrupts, jumping off the bed and walking to the other side, offering his hand to help her up. Regina takes it, walks slowly behind him to the bathroom, their hands still clasped together.

Robin starts the shower, then turns to her and wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close and breathing her in as they wait for the water to warm up. Once they step in, he grabs the sponge and soap, and Regina grabs his shampoo and starts washing her hair while his hands rub soapy foam along her skin, taking the time to explore her again, to appreciate the beauty of her body and commit it to memory.

They take turns helping the other clean up and wash away the suds. It's a melancholic moment, reverent silence surrounding them as they trade wet, soft kisses while the water pounds down on them from above, and when it's done, neither seems to want to leave the steam-filled cocoon they've enveloped themselves in.

He kisses her, slow and deep, his hands moving slowly through her hair, up and down her back, to her rear and back up, until the steam starts to dissipate and she shivers in his hold.

Robin dots one last kiss on her temple, then grabs one of the fluffy folded towels from the rack just outside the shower door, wrapping it around Regina and leaning in to touch his forehead to hers.

"I—" he starts, holding her face in his hands, but she stops him before he can say much else.

"I know," she says, wrapping her hands around his wrists, holding him there for a moment.

He breathes in deep, exhales slowly, resisting the urge to scream at the sheer injustice of it all.

Before he breaks, Robin shakes his head, pulling away from her to grab a towel for himself from the rack, and together they exit the shower and dry off in silence.

She pulls on her underwear when they go back into the bedroom, and he's about to ask her to please stay the night when she turns to him and asks, "Is it okay if I sleep in your shirt?"

"Of course," he says, delighted, and grabs her his heather gray hoodie from the closet as she pulls on the white tee she'd rid him off earlier. She pulls the hoodie on, too, and she looks nothing short of lovely like that, swimming in the cozy fabric and finding a comfy spot on his bed.

She pats the mattress, bare legs tempting him, and Robin finishes pulling on his pajama pants and joins her, shirtless, on the bed. Her arm immediately loops over his stomach, her hand caressing up and down his abs; her head is nestled on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her back, thumb rubbing up and down her arm as he lies flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering just how his life became such a mess.

There are countless romantic movies where the protagonist who is moving away chooses to damn it all to hell and stay with the person they love, and it always ends with epic music and some grand gesture and a kiss. A happily ever after. But life isn't a romantic movie, and he has a contract to fulfill. God, he wishes he'd never taken that stupid job.

It's his own fault. He was an idiot. And now, because of that, he'll never be with the woman that has stolen his heart.

"What are you thinking?" she echoes his question from earlier, her eyes trained on the movements of her hand over his torso. "I can hear the cogs turning from here."

Robin chuckles humorlessly at that, and admits, just as she did before, "How much I'm going to miss you."

She doesn't answer, doesn't say anything else, but she moves closer, holds him tighter, plants a little kiss on his chest before she rests her head back on his shoulder, and with sadness weighing them both down, they drift off to sleep without a single word.

When he wakes the next morning, she's gone, her side of the bed cold and empty, and there's a little post-it note glued to his bedside lamp, which Robin reads bleary-eyed as he tries to shake the last dregs of sleep.

 _It was real for me, too._

 _Have a wonderful life in Boston.  
_

 _PS: I'm keeping the hoodie._

That knot in his throat shows up again, making it impossible to breathe, to feel anything but pain at the idea of never seeing her again.

Even as he walks through the airport that evening, he's thinking of how much he wants to turn back and go to her, to actually act like he lives in one of those stupid romantic comedies and run back home to her.

Instead, Robin checks his bags, boards his flight, and leaves his home behind.


End file.
